Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Manuel António Pina

Hit and run

More than silence was needed,
what was needed was at least a screaming fit,
a nervous breakdown, a fire,
doors slamming, a rushing about.
But you said nothing,
you wanted to cry, but first you had to straighten up your hair,
you asked me the time, it was 3 p.m.,
I don’t remember now which day, maybe a day
when it was I who was dying,
a day that had begun badly, I had left
the keys in the lock on the inside of the door,
and now there you were, dead (dead and even
looking dead!), gazing up at me in silence stretched out on the road,
and no one asked a thing and no one spoke aloud.

Atropelamento e fuga

Atropelamento e fuga

Era preciso mais do que silêncio,
era preciso pelo menos uma grande gritaria,
uma crise de nervos, um incêndio,
portas a bater, correrias.
Mas ficaste calada,
apetecia-te chorar mas primeiro tinhas que arranjar o cabelo,
perguntaste-me as horas, eram 3 da tarde,
já não me lembro de que dia, talvez de um dia
em que era eu quem morria,
um dia que começara mal, tinha deixado
as chaves na fechadura do lado de dentro da porta,
e agora ali estavas tu, morta (morta como se
estivesses morta!), olhando-me em silêncio estendida no asfalto,
e ninguém perguntava nada e ninguém falava alto!
Close

Hit and run

More than silence was needed,
what was needed was at least a screaming fit,
a nervous breakdown, a fire,
doors slamming, a rushing about.
But you said nothing,
you wanted to cry, but first you had to straighten up your hair,
you asked me the time, it was 3 p.m.,
I don’t remember now which day, maybe a day
when it was I who was dying,
a day that had begun badly, I had left
the keys in the lock on the inside of the door,
and now there you were, dead (dead and even
looking dead!), gazing up at me in silence stretched out on the road,
and no one asked a thing and no one spoke aloud.

Hit and run

More than silence was needed,
what was needed was at least a screaming fit,
a nervous breakdown, a fire,
doors slamming, a rushing about.
But you said nothing,
you wanted to cry, but first you had to straighten up your hair,
you asked me the time, it was 3 p.m.,
I don’t remember now which day, maybe a day
when it was I who was dying,
a day that had begun badly, I had left
the keys in the lock on the inside of the door,
and now there you were, dead (dead and even
looking dead!), gazing up at me in silence stretched out on the road,
and no one asked a thing and no one spoke aloud.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
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